


First Kiss

by draculard



Category: Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Anxiety, Check out this fic for the shameless woobification of Cadet Thrawn, Desperation, Embarrassment, First Kiss, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, It's just piss kink, It's piss kink but like sophisticated, M/M, Military Homophobia, Nervousness, Wetting, nah who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Cadet Mitth'raw'nuru is cool, confident, and calm at all times.Except, of course, when General Ba'kif shows up and pulls him out of school.Then he's not quite so calm.
Relationships: Ba'kif/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	First Kiss

“Cadet Thrawn!”

Thrawn slowed at once, letting the other students pass him before he turned. A warm flush suffused his entire body as soon as he heard that voice calling his name; he’d been heading toward the fresher but now he paused without thinking and started walking back, his pace slower than he would have liked. He wanted to look confident and comfortable here — and normally he was — but now his body wouldn’t obey him. He ducked his head involuntarily, clutched the strap of his satchel, hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet.

He couldn’t help it. It was General Ba’kif calling him. The best he could do was try to get the reflexive heat to fade from his cheeks before he reached him. 

“Cadet Thrawn,” said Ba’kif again, more warmly, when Thrawn reached him. A few students shot them curious looks as they passed by, but didn’t linger to eavesdrop. “Well, you’ve really grown into your uniform!” Ba’kif said.

He clapped Thrawn on the shoulder, his palm broad and warm, and Thrawn suddenly found himself tongue-tied.

“I — yes, th— thank you, sir,” he mumbled, staring down at Ba’kif’s boots. 

“Walk with me,” said Ba’kif.

Warmth tingled through Thrawn’s body at the request, but he couldn’t tell if it made him more nervous or pleased. There was a light fluttering feeling in his stomach that he desperately wanted to stop. Unbelievably, he heard himself protesting against Ba’kif’s request. “My studies—”

Ba’kif was already walking away. He looked over his shoulder at Thrawn, patient and amused, and Thrawn stammered to a stop. He didn’t bother to correct himself; he just ducked his head again in embarrassment and followed Ba’kif down the hall. Whatever this was, he told himself, it couldn’t take long; and if it did, then surely ‘a general wanted to speak to me’ would be at least a semi-viable excuse with his instructors. Ba’kif wouldn’t delay Thrawn’s return to class and not at least deal with the absence; he wasn’t that type of person.

Unless, of course, Ba’kif was so far removed from the Academy setting that he forgot students even needed permission to leave. Thrawn grimaced at the thought and shifted uncomfortably, remembering that he’d been heading for the fresher before Ba’kif interrupted him — but there would be time for that later, he decided.

His blush had faded a little by the time they passed through the crowds of other cadets and stepped into the courtyard. Ba’kif set a leisurely pace down the pedestrian walkways, perhaps walking slowly out of courtesy to Thrawn, whose legs were a little shaky. 

A silence settled between them that seemed comfortable for Ba’kif but was nerve-wracking for Thrawn. They hadn’t spoken since months before, when Thrawn was accused of cheating — but there hadn’t been a single night since then that Thrawn didn’t think of Ba’kif.

He snuck a quick glance at the general, shame roiling in his gut. Sometimes, he couldn’t be sure of his own feelings, but he knew when he thought of Ba’kif that there was an undercurrent of emotion that shouldn’t have been there at all. Not to his superior officer. Certainly not to another man. 

He’d met people before who were mature and commanding, and one or two of them had been as fit as Ba’kif, but looking at them — talking to them — had never made Thrawn nervous before. Nor had it made him quite so — he placed a hand flat over his chest, trying to quell a surge of excitement so strong that it turned into nausea and made his lungs ache.

“So, Cadet,” said Ba’kif crisply when they’d entered the military gardens at Taharim. “I’ve been keeping myself abreast of your affairs at the Academy.”

Oh, no. He’d heard about the demerits.

“You’re doing exceedingly well,” Ba’kif continued approvingly, and Thrawn almost sagged with relief.

“Thank you, sir.” His voice came out quiet and meek, making him want to cringe. He _knew_ he didn’t act this way with his instructors or with other cadets — people called him stuck-up and aloof, and Ziara had told him he sometimes came off as distant, even cold, when he talked to people. But somehow, when it came to General Ba’kif, everything was different. Thrawn fidgeted with his shoulder strap, avoiding Ba’kif’s eyes.

“I _have_ heard,” said Ba’kif a little delicately, setting Thrawn’s fight-or-flight response to full alert, “that you’ve had some trouble connecting with the other students. Is that true?”

Thrawn stared at a patch of flowers nearby, trying not to squirm under Ba’kif’s gaze. He didn’t respond, but not out of impoliteness; he simply didn’t know what to say.

“Is it that you’re the only student from Rentor?” Ba’kif asked him.

Thrawn hesitated. Perhaps that was why some of the other students didn’t speak to him, but it had nothing to do with his own motivations. “I … just prefer to concentrate on my studies, sir,” he said.

“And you’re doing very well at that,” said Ba’kif, his tone gently reassuring. “But these are your Academy years, Cadet. It’s perfectly acceptable to cut loose every now and then and make friends. The connections you make now will serve you well when you’re in the Fleet.”

Thrawn nodded automatically. It was nothing he hadn’t heard or told himself before, but knowing that he had to make friends on an intellectual level didn’t actually help him socialize in practice. He kept his gaze on the neatly-ordered floral displays before him. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Ba’kif asked suddenly.

Thrawn stopped breathing. He glanced sideways at Ba’kif, unable to turn his head any further. It felt like his chest had been encased in ice.

“No?” Ba’kif prompted, reading Thrawn’s face. “Why not? You’re a smart, handsome young man. You could certainly find a girlfriend if you wanted one.”

Quickly, Thrawn turned away, the compliment hitting him like a slap across the face. They were alone in the garden, he realized — thank God for that — but knowing this did almost nothing to comfort him. His heart was pounding and he felt suddenly cold, almost clammy.

“I-I don’t have much time for dating, sir,” he said, cringing when he heard himself stammer. “I don’t — that is, my studies—”

“You’re very bright, Thrawn,” Ba’kif told him matter-of-factly, dropping Thrawn’s rank. “You know you are, too — so we both know you could keep up your grades perfectly well _and_ have a little fun. Why don’t you?”

Thrawn’s mouth was glued shut, his tongue heavy. He stared into the garden and managed a minute shrug. Not an acceptable way to answer a general, he knew — and Ziara would kill him if she found out — but a shrug alone was almost too much for him to manage.

He was cognizant of Ba’kif stepping closer to him, getting into Thrawn’s line of sight, peering down into his face.

“You have of course _kissed_ a girl before, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and nonjudgmental. Thrawn flushed.

“Yes,” he said. The word came out as a whisper. “A few times.”

He’d done a bit more than just _that_ , but he certainly didn’t feel like saying so to General Ba’kif.

“But you didn’t enjoy it?” asked Ba’kif gently.

Thrawn didn’t answer. He felt like he’d been frozen in Rentor’s oceans and put on display in an ice museum — exposed and vulnerable and immobile, all at once. Ba’kif _knew_. He wasn’t just asking idle questions, he _knew_. 

So what was he doing here? Issuing Thrawn a subtle warning? Telling him to get back in line?

“Answer me, Thrawn,” said Ba’kif, his voice soft.

Miserably, Thrawn shook his head. He felt tears spring to his eyes and turned his face away from Ba’kif, mortified. He tried to control his breathing and expression — and after a moment, he thought he’d managed it, more or less. But there was no chance Ba’kif hadn’t noticed the brief wetness in his eyes. 

He was still angling his face away from Ba’kif when he felt a warm, gentle hand land on his shoulder.

“You know it’s illegal to have relations with other men,” Ba’kif said.

“I haven’t—” Thrawn started, but his voice came out reedy and choked, and he stopped at once. 

“You haven’t?” Ba’kif said. He tilted his head to the side, studying Thrawn. “Haven’t what? Haven’t kissed another man before?”

It was too much. Thrawn broke away from General Ba’kif, turning to face the garden wall. His lips were trembling with emotion — fear, embarrassment — so he covered his mouth with both hands and squeezed his eyes closed, trying desperately to get himself under control.

His reaction was damning, he knew. He hadn’t said anything to warrant charges, but his distress was plain to see, and that alone would be enough for Ba’kif to have him thrown out of Taharim in disgrace. 

He felt a brush of air — Ba’kif stepping up behind him. A voice whispered in his ear.

“Would you like to?” Ba’kif asked.

Thrawn’s breath hitched. He stared at the wall before him, uncomprehending.

He heard himself say, “I’ve never broken the law, sir,” his voice stiff and strangled — and then he felt Ba’kif step closer, felt the heat of his chest against Thrawn’s back, his broad hands heavy on Thrawn’s shoulders.

“Turn around,” Ba’kif said, a note of command in his voice.

Heart pounding, Thrawn obeyed. He was close to Ba’kif — too close. The fabric of his Academy uniform brushed against Ba’kif’s more formal tunic, the touch so light that it was barely tangible — but Thrawn felt it. He felt it intensely, every nerve lighting up where his abdomen brushed Ba’kif’s, as if he could feel the hard muscle and warm skin beneath the cloth.

Ba’kif looked down at him, a thoughtful smile on his lips, fondness in his eyes. He brought his hand up and Thrawn’s breath stuttered as a rough, callused palm caressed his cheek. He leaned into it without thinking — couldn’t have resisted if his life depended on it — and his eyelashes fluttered at the touch. 

Already, it was so intensely different from what he’d felt with girls that he couldn’t stand it. Every mild touch sent sparks through his veins. He’d wondered for years if there was something wrong with him — if he wasn’t capable of love or even infatuation; if he couldn’t feel the same heights of pleasure, emotional or physical, that other people did — but one gentle, almost platonic touch from Ba’kif was all it took to know he was wrong.

But the crux of it was, he _couldn’t_ be wrong. Enjoying this didn’t make it any less illegal. He stared up at Ba’kif, scarcely able to breathe, and in his mind’s eye he saw his military career circling the drain. He saw the cold disapproval of his family representatives; he saw the inevitable disgust in Ziara’s eyes, could practically hear the ridicule of his classmates. If he came back home on charges like this, everyone would know. His family‚ his _real_ family would know. And he couldn’t afford — if people found out—

Ba’kif’s thumb brushed over Thrawn’s bottom lip.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured.

Thrawn closed his eyes and, to his horror, felt water leaking from the corners of his eyes. He raised his hands but Ba’kif got there first, gently wiping the tears away. 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he said, voice soft. Another hot tear blazed down Thrawn’s cheek, stopped in its path and brushed away by Ba’kif’s thumb. His breath hitched and he tried to hide his face again, but this time Ba’kif blocked him, raising his other hand to hold Thrawn’s head still. There was nowhere else for Thrawn to look; he had no choice but to meet Ba’kif’s eyes.

And his gaze dropped down, against his will, to Ba’kif’s lips. He felt himself shaking, a full-body tremor that wouldn’t go away. Someone would find them, he thought almost hysterically. Someone would walk in at any moment and see—

“Do I have your permission?” 

Thrawn’s breath hitched. He felt himself nodding weakly, against his better judgment. Ba’kif nodded, his thumb rubbing light circles over Thrawn’s cheekbones, but it was a long moment before he leaned in and closed the distance between them. 

He kissed Thrawn gently, slowly. His lips were warm and soft. A cold flush of embarrassment swept through Thrawn, starting with his toes and creeping up to his scalp like a shiver, and at the same time he felt a low fire start in his stomach, where the fluttering feeling hadn’t quite gone away. He leaned against Ba’kif helplessly, his muscles suddenly turning to water, deepening the kiss without even meaning to.

And then, at the height of his excitement, trembling and flushed and completely out of control, Thrawn felt a hot, wet spot form in his underwear. He wasn’t hard; it took him a moment, gasping into Ba’kif’s mouth, to realize that in his excitement, he’d briefly lost control of his bladder. He tried to tense up, to stop the gush of urine, but Ba’kif’s tongue flicked out, wet and hot against Thrawn’s lips, and suddenly the quick spurt of piss turned into a steady stream. 

He whimpered, unable to stop himself or even pull away. He felt the wet spot spreading over his underwear, the fabric sticking to his skin, and then his lips parted, and Ba’kif’s tongue entered his mouth, and his bladder grew so heavy that Thrawn couldn’t help himself. He heard the hiss of urine as he soaked through his underwear, felt Ba’kif pause with his lips still on Thrawn’s. And then, just as he heard the soft pattering of urine against the stone pathway beneath their feet, Ba’kif put his hands on Thrawn’s shoulders and gently pushed him away, looking down at the dark patch spreading over Thrawn’s crotch and down his leg.

Thrawn’s breath caught in his lungs, his limbs still refusing to listen to him. He was only able to stay standing thanks to Ba’kif’s support. He felt liquid fire trailing down his leg and puddling between his feet and tried futilely to cover his face. He was helpless to stop the flow of piss; he could only stay still and watch as the puddle formed and the stream hissed out of him.

And Ba’kif was watching, too, his expression neutral. He refused to look away. Thrawn could hear nothing but the pounding of his own heart, could feel nothing except the heat in his face and between his legs. 

Slowly, in a series of helpless spurts and tickles of urine, the stream dried up. Thrawn could feel the soaked fabric on his legs cooling already, even as he continued to sporadically wet his underwear. His arms and legs tingled, as if they’d been asleep and were only now coming awake again, and he felt anew the pressure of Ba’kif’s hands on his upper arms.

Suddenly, without warning, Thrawn burst into tears.

He felt Ba’kif pull him gently forward, and Thrawn was powerless to resist. He let Ba’kif guide him into an embrace, his face buried in Ba’kif’s shoulder, their chests and stomachs flat against each other in what was possibly the closest and most intimate hug Thrawn had ever had. He felt one of Ba’kif’s hands rest on his hip, the other rubbing circles on his back and pressing Thrawn close to him.

“Shh,” Ba’kif whispered, his tone soft and light. Thrawn gasped, his eyes opening reflexively as he cried, part of him unwilling to believe that he was being comforted after what he’d done. “It’s okay,” Ba’kif told him, moving his hand in slow, gentle circles over Thrawn’s back. 

Thrawn’s chest hitched in a silent sob and he pressed closer to Ba’kif; when he finally felt like he could move his shaking arms, he raised them just enough to clutch the fabric of Ba’kif’s uniform, his fingers clenching reflexively and wrinkling the material. 

“You were just nervous,” Ba’kif told him. There was no hint of judgment or disgust in his voice. “It happens. It’s okay.”

Not really comforting, Thrawn decided. He felt another pull in his bladder but this time was able to control himself, a sign that he was coming back, however slowly, to his senses. He clung to Ba’kif a minute longer, just until he could finally force himself to stop crying. 

When he pulled away, Ba’kif almost didn’t let him go. He kept his right hand on Thrawn’s hip; his left hand trailed from Thrawn’s back to his upper arm, preventing him from going too far. Thrawn glanced down at his uniform quickly, just enough to see that there was no way he could walk back to school like this, and then averted his eyes with a quiet, reflexive gasp for air.

“You’re alright,” Ba’kif told him, his voice warm and soft and confident. He rubbed Thrawn’s arm, and it took everything in Thrawn not to snap at him that he wasn’t helping — but by the time he found his voice, the gentle pressure of Ba’kif’s hand had stopped irritating him, and he found himself leaning bonelessly into the touch instead. 

“Can you walk?” Ba’kif asked, studying Thrawn’s face.

Thrawn swallowed, glancing down at the obvious wet patch on his pants, and nodded. He couldn’t meet Ba’kif’s eyes. After a long moment, Ba’kif nodded back and patted Thrawn’s shoulder, silently guiding him away from the public entrance to the garden.

They made their way to the back exit slowly, each of them mindful of Thrawn’s shakiness. He felt the wet fabric of his trousers clinging to his skin, the friction of his underwear against his cock sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. When they reached the back exit, Thrawn froze, unable to take another step forward.

Ba’kif stopped with him, his eyes warm, and leaned in to give Thrawn another kiss. This one was quick and chaste, with Ba’kif’s fingers tangled gently in Thrawn’s hair. When he pulled away, he stayed only a few centimeters away from Thrawn’s lips and looked him in his eyes.

“My speeder is parked outside,” he told him, giving the statement a moment to breathe, making sure Thrawn understood. It took Thrawn a moment to pull his thoughts away from the Academy — to realize that he wouldn’t need to endure the stares of his classmates as he made his way back to his barracks.

“You can come home with me,” Ba’kif confirmed, watching Thrawn’s face. He said it like it was a given, like there was no way Thrawn would refuse. And of course, he was right. Thrawn nodded at once, sagging with relief and simultaneously bracing himself for the quick three-meter walk to Ba’kif’s speeder. Nobody would see him. He would be fine.

Ba’kif would take care of him. The thought ignited a new, almost frightening warmth in Thrawn’s chest. When he looked up, he found Ba’kif watching him with a gentle smile.

“Come on,” Ba’kif told him, squeezing Thrawn’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”


End file.
